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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24262705">she's a hurricane, feel the earth shake</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonmotels/pseuds/moonmotels'>moonmotels</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, we goin vintage lesbians</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:55:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,924</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24262705</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonmotels/pseuds/moonmotels</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>misty + cordelia + the 1800's</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Misty Day/Cordelia Foxx | Cordelia Goode</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>98</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>she's a hurricane, feel the earth shake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>1858</em>
</p><p>-</p><p>The candles are lit, giving the dark room a warm glow that illuminates shadows and billowing shapes across the four bare walls. Outside, the sun is setting. The cold winter draft seeps through the walls, but here, in Cordelia’s bedroom, Misty is protected from the harsh chill. The floor feels like icicles against her bare toes, but she keeps her mouth shut in fear of disrespecting the woman whose family she's employed by.</p><p>She brushes out Cordelia’s soft locks carefully, preparing her for the most important meal she’ll ever have. They spend so much time together that it feels wrong when Misty doesn’t help her dress in her corset and fix her hair - it’s almost as if their lives are in tune like a fine beat or melody. </p><p>“Miss Goode, forgive me for overstepping, but you seem nervous this evenin’.” Misty’s thick accent is laced with concern. </p><p>“Misty, we’ve been through this, I’d prefer it if you call me Cordelia. I know you work for my family, but I consider us friends before anything else.”</p><p>Friends. The word floats around in Misty’s head space for a moment before she decides she likes the idea of that. She likes a lot of things about that.</p><p>“Miss - Cordelia,” she relents, “I’m just worried about ya. Is it because your mama told the cook to make lamb for dinner again?” Misty laughs breathlessly, a rosy blush rising to her cheeks when she catches Cordelia laughing along with her.</p><p>“No, I’ve already accepted my fate with that,” Cordelia fiddles her thumbs for a moment, shy brown eyes casting downwards. “I’m meeting Hank tonight,” she whispers.</p><p>Misty gently works her brush through a particularly large knot, gnawing on the inside of her cheek. This has been coming for weeks. It’s not news, but an unfamiliar feeling twists low and unsettling in her gut. Not the good kind of feeling - the one she gets in Cordelia’s presence - but a bad one.</p><p>Cordelia; the only child of the Goode family, is set to marry Hank Foxx. From a lineage that had arrived in America decades ago, quickly making a fortune in shipping goods, the Foxx family is nothing short of affluent. Hank is perfect for Cordelia, their family believes, despite the blindingly obvious fact that they’ve never met. Fiona’s only care is that this marriage will skyrocket the Goodes into prominent social circles and make them a household name.</p><p>“And you’re nervous?”</p><p>“Yes,” Cordelia admits, “What if I don’t like him? What if he doesn't like <em>me</em>? I'm a little old to be partnered off.”</p><p>“I’m sure he’ll be a perfect gentleman,” Misty soothes, “ain’t he from some fancy family? They’ll take care of ya real nice. And you're not old, don't let me catch ya putting yourself down again.”</p><p>“I wish you could come with me when I go live with him.” It's an easy thing to say, but deep down, Cordelia knows it's laced with something much more emotionally loaded.</p><p>Misty forces a smile on her face, framing Cordelia’s cheekbones with her now silky strands. “I reckon you’ll do just fine on your own. Your pretty face don’t need me that bad.”</p><p>(It does.)</p><p>“Misty?” Cordelia looks utterly serious now, an urgency rising in her voice the closer it comes to dinner time. Their eyes meet in the mirror, blue against brown. “Have you ever been in love?”</p><p>For a second, Misty refuses to reply. A heavyset gloom sets deep in her chest, right in the space tucked behind her heart. She supposes, well enough, that since they’re friends she can trust Cordelia.</p><p>(Can trust her with the belief that Misty doesn’t think she’ll ever fall in love - not with a man at least. </p><p>What Misty can’t do is trust Cordelia enough to say that she might be in love with her. That’s not ready to come to surface yet. So, the feeling sits in the bottom of the metaphorical pot where it simmers gently and never comes to full boil.)</p><p>“Not to my knowledge,” Misty lies easily enough. “Have you?”</p><p>“No,” Cordelia says quickly, “of course not. I suppose I’m expected to love Hank though.”</p><p>“You know ya don’t have to,” Misty says seriously. “He’s just a man. There’s plenty of ‘em out there.” She jerks her head towards the cobblestone streets lying right outside Cordelia’s bedroom window.</p><p>“None that come from the second richest family in the city.”</p><p>“You got me there.” Misty pats her on the shoulder, tries not to make the touch seem more personal than it does. “You’re all ready.”</p><p>Cordelia grasps her forearm in a vice grip, her tone desperate and weak. “Will you stay? In the dining room, with me, I mean? I don’t want to be alone with Hank just yet.”</p><p>Ignoring the pain that stabs incessantly right under her rib cage, Misty nods slowly. “'Course. I’m always here for you.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Outside, the wind chill whips around and nips at the feet of Hank and his father. When the maid ushers them inside, Cordelia is just descending the stairs with Misty at her heels. Fiona; her mother and avid lover of all things Cordelia dislikes, puts on a show by welcoming them inside the house.</p><p>“Cordelia,” she drawls, “this is Hank Foxx. I suspect you two have plenty to speak on, so his father and I will duck away to the parlor for some brandy while you two have a nice meal.”</p><p>Cordelia looks down at her feet and offers a measly, “Hello, Mr. Foxx.”</p><p>Hank takes one lecherous look at her thin figure and grins widely, his tongue darting out to swipe his bottom lip. Misty can’t help but be reminded that snakes with sharp tongues live in tall grass and can sometimes slither their way into your home, unassuming. Dressed in three piece suits and buckled loafers.</p><p>Misty feels scared, deep inside; and in some obscure way threatened, like a poison is working its way relentlessly towards her heart.</p><p>Hank’s father claps good-naturedly and boasts, “Already a match made in heaven. I can’t wait to see where the night takes them.”</p><p>Fiona breezes by Misty and flicks Cordelia’s waistline, draped in her finest white dress. A symbol of what’s to come, apparently. The allusion is not lost on Misty. “Chin up, Delia, this is important,” she strains.</p><p>Cordelia manages a thin lipped smile Misty knows is difficult. “Yes, mother.” Despite being nearly thirty years of age, her mother still scares her worse than anything that lies beyond the shelter of the charmed life she lives.</p><p>Someday, though, she’d love to test those boundaries.</p><p>As their parents retreat down the hallway to talk business, Hank cheekily offers his arm to her. “Shall we?” He glances at Misty as if she’s worth less than the dirt on his shoe and sneers, “You can attend to your other chores now.”</p><p>“No,” Cordelia snaps, “this is my friend and she’ll be in the dining room with us. She’s welcomed wherever I go.”</p><p>Hank fights back an eye roll, scoffing in distaste. “If you insist.”</p><p>In the dining room, Hank puts on a wonderful act, holding the chair out for Cordelia. She sits, the fabric of her dress bunching beautifully at the dip between her thighs and waist. Misty tries her best not to stare.</p><p>Hank talks over Cordelia every chance he gets, only stopping to pause for gulps of wine. Cordelia seems calm enough, but Misty can tell she’s bristled underneath that exterior. It’s making her mad, watching Hank walk all over her like she’s worth nothing. Doesn’t he know Cordelia is the finest woman he’ll ever meet? Doesn’t he know he’ll never deserve her?</p><p>“I hope you’re ready to have children,” he says out of nowhere.</p><p>“I suppose I can be,” Cordelia says.</p><p>“I’m just saying, your child-bearing years are almost to an end. A shame you’ve waited this long. How old are you again?”</p><p>“Twenty eight.”</p><p>“Twenty eight?” he repeats, “What, is there something wrong with you? You're a bit old to be a bride.” The joke is terribly executed, and no one laughs.</p><p>“I’ve just never found the right person, I suppose.”</p><p>Misty tries not to question why she used the term person and not <em>man</em>.</p><p>Dinner is served on the finest china, a gluttonous meal of lamb, bread, cheese, and Cordelia’s favorite: bread pudding. It makes Misty’s mouth water, watching them dine on such delicacies. She lies in wait as Cordelia eats gracefully, like the lady she is, while Hank all but scoffs down his plate and snaps at Misty to bring him a second one.</p><p>When she returns with the plate piled high, she catches their disastrous on-going conversation. </p><p>“So what is it you do for fun again?”</p><p>Cordelia really tries to smile here. “I ride horses. And I bake. Misty and I love making breads and cakes.”</p><p>“How utterly repulsive. Horses are the dirtiest animal. I refuse to have my wife atop one of them.”</p><p>He continues, “And I have plenty of service staff to do the cooking, so there will be no place for you in the kitchen. I hope you’ve got other talents stored up there.” He winks disgustingly, tapping Cordelia twice on her forehead. To Misty’s surprise, Cordelia keeps her face neutral.</p><p>“I hope so, too.”</p><p>He spares Misty another look filled with distaste, wondering, “Does she need to be here? I’d like to discuss more personal things with my wife to be.”</p><p>As Misty ducks her head in embarrassment, going to walk through the large wooden door towards the kitchen, Cordelia interrupts, “Yes, she does. Who else will fetch your food?”</p><p>“That’ll be your duty soon enough,” Hank snaps back. “But fine, I suppose she can hear this.” Misty watches as he cups Cordelia’s chin tightly, forcing eye contact. A feral scream lies at the back of her throat, ready to be released. “I need to know you’ll be loyal to me.”</p><p>“Loyal?”</p><p>“Submissive.”</p><p>“I don’t - I’m not sure what you mean.”</p><p>“You’ll perform wifely duties when I desire and keep your mouth shut when applicable, correct?”</p><p>“Oh,” Cordelia’s cheeks are flaming hot, and she’s scared Hank can feel the heat rise under his fingertips. Biting back tears, she nods furiously.</p><p>“So I must know, have you ever performed these wifely duties before me?” With the way his tone drops an octave and the way he eyes her suspiciously, there’s no denying what he means.</p><p>From where she’s still stood in the corner of the room, fingers curled in a fist that hurts, Misty thinks back to Cordelia’s dangerous two day whirlwind romance with the stable boy that ended abruptly when he was called home for a family emergency. After two weeks and no letter, Cordelia had given up hope he’d ever return. From there, Misty had comforted her and shoved her own feelings aside; if only for the feel of Cordelia pressing her teary eyed face into Misty’s neck as they swayed together.</p><p>Cordelia swallows, lies flawlessly, “No, never.”</p><p>“Good,” Hank settles back into the veneered high top chair. “I think you and I will have a long, happy life together. My father will be so pleased with us.”</p><p>“My mother as well.”</p><p>For the rest of the meal, Hank holds Cordelia’s hand in a vice grip, as if she’ll flee the second he lets go. Misty clears their plates and allows them a moment alone; despising every second of it. There’s an inherent coldness creeping slowly through her, starting at the tips of her toes and reaching the roots in her hair. It spreads an animalistic need to scream, but she fights that back and fetches dessert for the woman she loves and the man she’ll wed in the following week.</p><p>Once dessert is cleared, Cordelia and Hank join their parents in the parlor for a nightcap. Misty waits patiently outside in the hallway, hearing only the hushed whispers of wedding planning and plans for future children. It makes her stomach twist, having Cordelia in the palm of her hands where she’s slowly slipping away like sand. Hank and his father finally retreat from the room and barely offer Misty a goodnight. Misty watches as they disappear into the dark and cold night, hoping the darkness swallows them whole and prevents them from ever coming back. It’s sick, she knows, but so is being in love with a woman that could never love you back.</p><p>Cordelia pops her head out from behind the heavy wooden door, searching for Misty as though she’s a sailor lost at sea. When she finds her gaze, an electrifying shock shudders through them both, unbeknownst to the other. “Misty, you can retire to your room. I’m sure you’re exhausted. I will get myself prepared for bed when I’m ready.”</p><p>“Okay, Miss Cordelia. I’ll wake you in the morning for breakfast.”</p><p>“Please do. Goodnight, Misty.”</p><p>Misty stands there a moment as the door shuts, unsure of what to do. Cordelia looked haggard, as if that one hour meal sealing her fate had taken the light from her eyes. She finds herself unwilling to retire to bed, because tomorrow brings with it a slew of repulsive events that will lead to Cordelia joining Hank’s hand in marriage. Misty shivers at the thought. Just as she turns to ascend the stairs, she hears the beginning of a hushed fight begin. Fiona’s voice rises above Cordelia’s, broken fragments of sentences that sound like, “ - <em>will</em> marry him,” and “no choice in the matter.”</p><p>Misty closes her bedroom door and crumples on the other side, muffling her tears into her apron.</p><p>She sits for what feels like hours, feeling the time tick slowly on like sand in a never ending hourglass. For Cordelia to be leaving her is one thing, something she’d accepted long ago when the vague idea had been tossed around. But this - knowing Cordelia will be wed to that pathetic excuse of a man, makes her blood boil. She wishes it were different, wishes loving Cordelia didn’t hurt so badly, wishes she could whisk them both away to a place far from here where Misty could treat Cordelia the way she deserves to be treated.</p><p>(But she can’t.)</p><p>Misty’s room is only a stone's throw away from Cordelia’s, which is why she hears the sign of said woman coming slowly up the grand staircase. The steps creak with the press of light feet, and in Misty’s mind is an image of an angel stepping forward towards the gates of Heaven. </p><p>Instead of Cordelia’s footsteps proceeding down the hallway, they stop right outside of Misty’s door. There’s a pause, as if Cordelia is contemplating something, and then a soft rapt. Misty is so very glad she kept her candle lit, giving off the confirmation she is still awake.</p><p>Brushing the mostly dried tears from her cheeks, she puts on her usual brave face and opens the door.</p><p>Cordelia, in all her glory, rakes her eyes over Misty’s form as if seeing her in a brand new light. She really takes her time here, eyes glazing over in what looks like a mixture of lust and complete adoration. It has Misty feeling exposed and vulnerable, as if she’s just been undressed mentally. The thought of doing that - in Cordelia’s presence, is almost too much. It’s silent for a moment, and then, </p><p>“I’m getting married in a week. My bags are being packed as we speak.”</p><p>Misty blinks. “I know.”</p><p>“How do you feel about that?” Cordelia doesn’t wait for invitation to come in, but Misty doesn’t think she could deny her anything anyway.</p><p>She sidesteps Misty, smelling of lavender soap and something more heady. If Misty could get over the image of Cordelia sitting atop the bed in which she sleeps every night, she might be able to ask what it is. If she could guess, she’d say it’s the wine Fiona keeps on the top shelf of her wooden cabinet, the bottle she thinks is a secret.</p><p>Misty fiddles with her hands for a moment, telling herself to grow a backbone for once in her life and respond to Cordelia just exactly how she does feel.</p><p>But she doesn’t, she never will.</p><p>“I don’t really think it’s my place to have an opinion, Miss Cordelia. Hank seems kind.”<em> If venomous snakes are kind.</em></p><p>Cordelia actually scoffs out loud at that, and Misty grows still. Something tells her that she isn’t in the right state of mind to be having this conversation, but Misty loves putting her toe over the line of invisible boundaries they’ve carefully constructed.</p><p>“Don’t lie to me, Misty. I expect better from you.”</p><p>“I’m not sure what you want me to say, I -“</p><p>“Tell me not to do it.”</p><p>At her vanity, decorated with personal belongings like her planted pot of Belladonna and the handwritten card Cordelia had written her for this past birthday, Misty has to sit down on wobbly legs. She stares off in the distance for a moment, wishing desperately to be out there in the world where it doesn’t ask of her what Cordelia seems to be asking for now.</p><p>“Why would I do that?” Misty casts her gaze towards the wooden floor. Unconsciously, her eyes rise to find Cordelia again, as if she’s the only thing she’ll ever want to see again.</p><p>She’d served Cordelia a glass of wine at dinner, but Hank had taken it from her and claimed women of class don’t drink like fish. But here, in the dimly lit room, Cordelia is most definitely intoxicated. She sways back and forth softly as if there is a romantic tune in her head, her lips curled into the tiniest of grins like she knows a terrifying secret. This means she must have broken into the cabinet on her own volition and retrieved more wine once Hank had left. It strangely makes Misty proud.</p><p>“Because I think you love me.”</p><p>Cordelia drops this confession as if it means nothing, like it doesn’t hold the ability to change the course of Misty’s entire life. She holds Misty’s gaze, dark brown eyes searching blues for any semblance of a denial.</p><p>Misty placates her, responding, “I sure do love you, Miss Delia. I love all my friends.”</p><p>It’s the truth, albeit thinly veiled by a shitty curtain that can be ripped down in no effort. </p><p>There’s a thin red wine stain outlining Cordelia’s plump lips, and God is it hard for Misty to pull her eyes away when they start moving. “I don’t believe you.”</p><p>Instead of waiting for a reply, she continues. “I’m getting married next week to a man I don’t love, and you’ll be doing what? Working here for my mother for the rest of your life? What kind of life is that? I don’t want that for you.”</p><p>“Your mama’s been good to me, Delia. I’ll be fine.”</p><p>“That’s not what I’m saying,” Cordelia snaps, and immediately apologizes, “I’m sorry. I’m very upset.”</p><p>“It’s alright.”</p><p>“It’s not alright, Misty,” she stresses, “Hank is coming back in the morning to take me with him. I’m expected to leave my life, leave you, all behind like it’s nothing.”</p><p>Misty drags her bottom lip between teeth, gnawing at the dry skin there. She’s desperately pulling at straws here to understand why Cordelia is so upset about leaving her, but nothing is coming to mind. The idea that Cordelia could ever feel the same is blocked from view, under lock and key that Misty doesn’t have access to.</p><p>“I’m not sure I follow.”</p><p>Cordelia taps her finger incessantly on the bed spread. Misty wishes she would stop touching her things so carelessly, because now every time she closes her eyes, this is all she will picture. Cordelia; teary eyed and goddess-like on her bed.</p><p>“I want you to tell me not to go. I want you to, to - fight for me.”</p><p>“I can’t do that,” Misty says, and the tremors in her voice increase with every word. “Cordelia, you know I can’t do that. Why are you asking me for this?”</p><p>“Because you have me so confused about everything. You’re up here,” she points to her mind with this, “all the time. I think of nothing else but you.”</p><p>The pit in Misty’s stomach travels up until it lodges itself firmly up against the base of her throat, making it terribly hard to breathe. She wants to open a window or fan herself off, but Cordelia is still looking at her like that and she can’t move a limb to save her life.</p><p>“I didn’t ask that of you. You should be thinking of the man you’re going to wed.”  </p><p>Or <em>- Please be thinking of me, the way I think about you.</em></p><p>“That’s my goddamn problem, Misty. I can’t. Not when I’m -” Cordelia shakes her head, frustrated beyond belief. The alcohol isn’t helping her the way she needs it anymore.</p><p>“Not when you’re what?”</p><p>“It doesn’t matter. My fate has been sealed.”</p><p>With all the love for Cordelia that Misty stores in her heart, she’s inexplicably angry at her right now. What right does she have, coming in here and stirring up Misty’s life like a tornado only to be leaving come tomorrow morning?</p><p>“Why are you doing this?” Misty’s tone is curt and riddled with displeasure. Cordelia doesn’t even look taken aback.</p><p>“You know,” Cordelia ignores her question, “I’ve heard stories about this. Women, falling for other women. It’s not as taboo as our society would make us believe. There’s even books that have been written about it.”</p><p>“Cordelia, you -”</p><p>“It’s awfully terrible to feel so alone about these sorts of things,” Cordelia muses, “isn’t that just dire? To feel like this, and have no one to talk to? I wouldn’t wish this upon my own enemies.”</p><p>Misty doesn’t think she has any words for this conversation anymore. Cordelia doesn’t even seem to notice, her head somewhere in the clouds far far above this room.</p><p>“I know you love me, Misty,” she deadpans, “The way women are meant to love men. The way I’m supposed to love Hank.”</p><p>Misty opens her mouth to protest when Cordelia interrupts her again. “I can see it in your eyes. Don’t lie to me.”</p><p>“Miss Cordelia -”</p><p>“Stop calling me that.”</p><p>Misty shuts her mouth.</p><p>“What I’m saying is that you’re not alone in this. It’s not just you.”</p><p>Bright lights burst behind Misty’s eyes, momentarily stunning her. A wave of emotion pushes back against her violently, making her grip onto the edges of her desk with a white-knuckled grasp. She’s vaguely aware of the pain from the wood digging into her skin, but she’s too overwhelmed with more prominent feelings to notice. The room seems to tilt sideways, but there Cordelia sits, upright and still looking at her with those goddamn Bambi eyes.</p><p>It’s silent for a long period, only the large grandfather clock outside the room ticking softly with every hazy second that passes.</p><p>Misty finally speaks, and it’s on a tremble that Cordelia mercifully doesn’t comment on. “You love me?”</p><p>“I think so. Yes, I do.”</p><p>“You’re marrying Hank,” she reminds.</p><p>“I’m aware.”</p><p>The room grows quiet again. Everything in Misty’s body is screaming at her to sweep Cordelia into her arms and run her away from this dreadful house, away from the life she does not deserve but has still been given. Fate is a funny thing, she thinks. For two women to love each other like this, in the situation they’re in? Misty could laugh out loud if she had the ability.</p><p>“So what do we do?”</p><p>There’s a pause in reply, then a shift that makes Misty’s tiny twin bed squeak noisily. It’s music to her ears.</p><p>“I want us to have tonight. I want you, even if only for an hour.”</p><p>Misty swallows thickly. “I don’t know how I’ll move on in the morning.”</p><p>“I don’t either. Come here.”</p><p>Complying, Misty stands on shaky legs. Cordelia swings her legs fully on the bed and lies patiently, a dream scenario that makes everything in Misty’s vision go hazy. She looks like a complete vision, a honey-dipped daydream so sweet it makes her teeth hurt. Hiking her skirt just above the knee, she straddles Cordelia’s waist and waits for her to make the next move.</p><p>Cordelia rubs her thumb over Misty’s ribcage, rising and falling with effort. There’s a droning noise in the back of her mind, making it hard to focus. To keep herself weighted to this plane of existence, she wraps her knuckles around a fistful of Misty’s forest green dress. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”</p><p>Misty shrugs, a smile curling at the edges of her lips. “Wouldn’t know a damn thing about it. The only beautiful thing I see is you.”</p><p>Cordelia closes her eyes, embarrassed. To be viewed by Misty, like this, feels too much all at once. It’s producing a strange tingle at the base of her neck, sending sharp waves of pleasure to areas she didn’t even know existed. It’s never been like this, not with the few lovers she’s taken.</p><p>It’s especially thrilling, knowing they haven’t even kissed yet and Cordelia is jello in Misty’s hands.</p><p>“Let me kiss you,” Misty finally says, and her tone is unashamed of the need that’s grown bold.</p><p>Cordelia sits up and threads her thin fingers through Misty’s golden locks, securing their hold on each other. One of Misty’s fingers is repeatedly tapping her thigh, as if checking over and over that she’s real. Misty is the one to lean in first, pressing an experimental kiss on her lips that skyrockets Cordelia’s oxytocin levels to places far beyond what should be considered normal.</p><p>Their lips part with a soft pop, but Cordelia doesn’t want it to end there; never wants this moment to be over. It makes her so sad she’s living it now, because come tomorrow she will be missing this with every fiber of her being. She pulls Misty back in roughly, catching her off-guard with a small squeak. Swallowing that sound, Cordelia kisses Misty like she means it, like parting again would mean sure sudden demise. And if that happens immediately after - if Cordelia does succumb to the relentless pull of death, she thinks she would go happily. She’d almost prefer that than to what tomorrow holds. To die in Misty’s arms would please her beyond belief.</p><p>Hiding her face in Misty’s neck, Cordelia mumbles, “I want you,” painfully shy. She presses a line of sloppy kisses over the muscle there, which strains as Misty squeezes her eyes shut.</p><p>“Take me. I’m all yours.”</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>Misty travels her mouth over the edge of Cordelia’s chin, bites down on her bottom lip, and nods. Cordelia’s hips buck unconsciously, her sense of smell overwhelmed with Misty’s scent. She smells sweet up close; honeysuckle and something earthy, the plants Misty tends to in their garden maybe. Flipping them around so Misty lies on her back, Cordelia smiles down at her, feeling the weight settled on her heart lift until she no longer feels so heavy. </p><p>Cordelia’s roaming touch moves downward, smoothing over the scratchy fabric until it reaches the hem. Her hands pause, waiting for the confirmation that she desperately needs. Misty’s following breathless whine is as much verification as she needs. Unceremoniously bunching the dress up and above Misty’s waist, Cordelia glances down and sucks in a breath. The image of Misty’s thighs spread, for her, is making her head swim.</p><p>“Have you ever done this before?” she wonders.</p><p>Misty nods again, smiles mischievously. “I went to an all girl school up 'til comin' here. Lots’a girls like to experiment and grow out of it. Guess I never got the memo.”</p><p>Cordelia raises an eyebrow and laughs, “I suppose that makes sense,” and then, “I’d love to have my mouth on you.”</p><p>“So do it, then.” Misty’s fingers tighten once around Cordelia’s forearm and release.</p><p>Cordelia dances fingertips along the inside of her thighs before yanking her hips so she lies flat. Misty watches as she crawls down the bed on her knees and situates herself between her legs. Hooking her thumbs into the bland white cotton, Cordelia doesn’t wait for approval here; doesn’t want to wait any longer than she has to. Nuzzling her nose on the pliant skin of Misty’s thigh, Cordelia sighs in content and murmurs throatily, “You smell good.” </p><p>Groaning, she maneuvers so that her cool cheek is pressed where her nose had been. She bumps her nose over the sensitive skin, tongue swiping lazily through wet folds. Misty makes a breathy noise, shifts, and gathers a handful of Cordelia’s soft hair in a tight grip. “Quit teasin‘.”</p><p>In all her wildest fantasies, the ones she’d only allow herself to think of late at night when the moon was her only companion, Cordelia never pictured how decimating it would be, having Misty like this. It feels right, so incredibly natural, like they’ve been doing this for years. Cordelia knows all the right steps, pushing Misty closer and closer to the edge with barely any effort. Her lips suction over Misty’s clit, pulsing with need and desire and craving that apocalyptic burn that’ll hurt the most when the sun rises and day dawns. </p><p>When Cordelia pushes one finger inside, Misty screams, clamps a hand over her mouth, and writhes. The waves build and build until she no longer has any control over her body, limbs shaking incessantly until she comes on a low wail, muffled now by the wet fingers Cordelia had slipped in her mouth. Her legs clamp together as Cordelia brings her down slowly, indirect swipes of a warm tongue on soft flesh.</p><p>Misty releases all the air in her lungs and blinks, staring up at the ceiling. She’s quiet for so long that Cordelia begins to believe she regrets this, but then Misty is looking at her like she’d pulled the stars from the sky and inserted them in her eyes. Cordelia’s lips are wet and her hair is messy as Misty mumbles, “C’mere.”</p><p>Cordelia lies across from her, unsure of where to go from here. Now every time she closes her eyes, she’ll never not be reminded of this: Misty’s face so full of unabashed love, her still-trembling legs that make the bed shake slightly, the slick sheen of sweat accumulated at her collarbone. There is nothing, no sight Cordelia ever will see again that could ever compare. It makes her chest ache.</p><p>“Thank you,” Misty whispers. Her fingers traipse down Cordelia’s torso shyly, like they don’t want to be caught.</p><p>Cordelia breathes out harshly through her nose, brushing it against Misty’s. Admits, “I want you to touch me the way you touch yourself.”</p><p>Before she can even ask if that’s alright, Cordelia is thrown onto her stomach and pressed down on to the mattress. Her dress is unhooked from the back, nimble fingers making quick work of removing the offending object. When Cordelia manages to raise her cheek off the pillow, Misty grins sheepishly. “Wanna see all of you.” </p><p>Sitting up, Cordelia tries to unlace her corset, stopped when Misty halts her movements. “Let me, please. I always help you put it on. Kinda wanna take it off.”</p><p>Cordelia lulls her head to the side, allowing Misty whatever she desires. Once her body is left naked and flushed, she tugs at Misty’s own outfit until each item is thrown rapidly on the ground, joining hers. Misty covers Cordelia’s body with her own; kissing down her neck to her chest. A trembling and eager mouth pulls a pink nipple between lips, sucking harder when Cordelia releases a low moan that makes the hair on the back of Misty’s neck stand up.</p><p>Her hand finally, blissfully reaches the apex of Cordelia’s thighs and presses them apart with haste. Cold fingers meet warm heat at last, sending a delightful shiver through them both. At every experimental press of Misty’s magic touch, Cordelia’s toes curl into the thick sheets of the bed. Misty counts her moans, memorizing each drawn out gasp to keep for later use. Tentative swirls turn into firm pressure, making Cordelia’s hips jump off the bed with every passing second. </p><p>The build strikes her out of nowhere, the rising pleasure making her limbs go boneless. Cordelia can do nothing but part her lips in a silent cry, a monumental squeak launching from the back of her throat when Misty kisses her to muffle the noise. Partially in fear in fear of being caught; mostly to keep this connection before it’s severed for good.</p><p>There’s an inexplicable warmth that travels through Misty as Cordelia comes on her fingers. She can’t rip her eyes away, the ability to do anything but watch a distant idea. She feels like she’s won the top prize at the county fair, the coveted item people admire from afar but never get to touch. Misty’s done that for tonight, has taken Cordelia from Hank’s slimy grasp like a bandit on the run. What a nice idea that is - having Cordelia for herself and herself only.</p><p>Cordelia shifts them so Misty lies on her naked chest, face angled up to watch the blush retreat from her cheeks. “I wish I could make you hate me,” she says when the tingles finally subside.</p><p>Misty caresses her thumb over the swell of Cordelia’s cheek, leans in and kisses the trail with her mouth. “I couldn’t. It’d be impossible.”</p><p>“It would be easier if you did.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“At least we had tonight.”</p><p>Misty blows the candle on her nightstand out, watches Cordelia fade into the shadows. She glows ethereally, still, like an angel. “It’ll have to be enough.”</p><p>Cordelia’s only response is to clutch at her harder and close her eyes.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Dawn comes like a blanket of sadness over Misty, waking her with dread settling firmly in her chest before she even fully opens her eyes. Cordelia is gone, she can tell, because there is an inherent stillness in her room. Everything feels too cold - the room, her bed, the muscles around her heart.</p><p>From downstairs, Misty can hear the typical ramblings of the household waking for the day. The cook in the kitchen preparing breakfast, Fiona bossing around their maid, and Cordelia, somewhere off in the parlor, likely pacing back and forth. Misty knows she must rise and begin the day, but her body refuses to move as if paralyzed. There are things to be done - but she cannot do them. Perhaps she’ll never be able to do anything but lie here in this bed and rot away.</p><p>Suddenly though, a thought pushes itself to the forefront of her mind, props itself there until Misty has to listen to it, considering it only for a few short seconds. She sits up then, dressing herself slowly and methodically. It will have to work, she thinks, knowing her life will perish otherwise. </p><p>Down the stairs and into the sitting room, Misty nearly runs smack into Fiona, who is calming down a visibly frustrated Hank. He has his hands thrown up towards the sky, less than savory insults being thrown around carelessly. Apparently he’s upset that Cordelia isn’t ready to leave yet. The hold up, he assumes, is that Cordelia’s bags aren’t packed.</p><p>Fiona whips her head around at the sound of Misty, visible anger in her eyes. “Go fetch my daughter,” she snips, “and make it quickly. Hank is ready to leave.”</p><p>“Sure thing, Miss Goode.”</p><p>Misty scurries through the halls, peeking in every room and searching for the missing piece of her heart. The last place she thinks to check is the kitchen, where their cook and maid stand over the stove, gossiping.</p><p>“Any of ya seen Miss Cordelia?”</p><p>Myrtle jerks her head towards the walk-in pantry, an unreadable look on her face. “In there, darling.”</p><p>Opening the door and slipping inside for privacy, Misty looks down to find the subject of all her dreams both literal and fictional, on the floor in sitting fetal position. Seeing Cordelia in the morning light after what happened last night feels like a fever dream, a mirage of water after being in the desert for years on end.</p><p>“Hank is waiting,” she says curtly.</p><p>“I can’t move,” Cordelia responds. She refuses to meet Misty’s gaze.</p><p>“Cordelia, you need to get up.”</p><p>“I can’t,” she replies, strained. “They’ll have to remove me kicking and screaming.”</p><p>Misty sighs, squeezes her eyes shut, and trembles with nervousness. Then - “Do you trust me?”</p><p>Cordelia finally looks at her for the first time since last night. “Implicitly.”</p><p>“Listen to me very carefully.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Five minutes later, Misty slips past Hank and Fiona again, seemingly calm now with a glass of brandy in each of their hands. Sweetly, she says, “Cordelia is feelin’ a lil under the weather. I’ll get her some morphine and have y’all on the way.”</p><p>“Hurry it up,” Hank sneers.</p><p>(If only he knew.)</p><p>Up the stairs on light feet, Misty flies past the bathroom and goes right to her room. Retrieving her small suitcase from the shelf in her closet, she makes quick work of placing her meager items into it. Next are the few belongings littering her desk; the notebook she keeps all her secrets in, the card Cordelia had written her, and lastly, the pot of Belladonna carefully wrapped in her scarf. With one final look around the room, she closes her eyes and hopes the braveness coursing through her stays for the time being.</p><p>This time, instead of descending down the main staircase, Misty takes the servant’s stairs that lead into the back room next to the kitchen. Quietly, like a mouse, she slips out the back door and onto the stone-lined path leading towards the massive backyard. She’s alone, a rush of nervousness scaring her so greatly it makes two fat tear droplets fall to the ground. The explicit instructions she’d given Cordelia had been clear. Retrieve her suitcase from the parlor, avoid being detected, and then meet Misty out back. It should have been simple, taken no more than two minutes. Perhaps she got stopped by Hank, or perhaps she’s already on her way with him. Misty actually has to bite back a wail at that idea. </p><p>But then there’s a small scuffle, and Cordelia appears at the doorway, looking like an absolute fantasy. She’s wrapped in her small petticoat, blonde waves caressing her collarbone so beautifully that Misty’s chest actually constricts.</p><p>“Hi.”</p><p>Misty clears her throat. “Are you ready?”</p><p>“I had to leave a note, you know. In case they come looking. Throw them off the trail.”</p><p>The younger blonde nods. “I get it.” Holding out her hand, she repeats, “Are you ready?”</p><p>“Take me away from here, Misty,” Cordelia confirms.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They half-run, half-walk for hours, ducking through woods and over streams, never letting go of each other’s hand. For being a person held on such high standards, Cordelia doesn’t question Misty’s moves, follows blindly and keeps the questions at bay. It’s a struggle to carry her suitcase through the unknown territory, but it’s also the most exhilarating thing she’s ever done. Cordelia finds herself giddy, excited, and the furthest thing from scared.</p><p>At around high noon, Misty stops walking abruptly, and Cordelia nearly smacks into her from behind.</p><p>“We’re here.”</p><p>There, a few hundred feet in front of them, is a small white cottage. The shutters are cracked but still standing, and the garden out front is nothing more than a pile of scraggly leaves and dead plants. It’s perfect.</p><p>Cordelia tells Misty so, feeling her heart swell in content and happiness, like she’s finally come home after a long vacation.</p><p>Misty smiles at her, saying, “This was my mama and papa’s before they passed away n' I went to work for your family. It ain’t much, but there’s a market a little ways that way, and I don’t think your Miss Fiona will ever think to look this far out of the city.” She fidgets with her belongings, suddenly overcome with the fact that she’s done it. That she’s successfully taken Cordelia from the place she didn’t belong and brought her here - the place she does.</p><p>Cordelia steps forward, over weeds and scattered stones, up to the front door of the home she’ll never want to leave. Turning back, she calls, “Are you coming?” and Misty follows in the footsteps of all her waking desires.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Hours later, after Misty had gone to the market and made Cordelia the finest dinner she could manage, they lie on the small cot, chest to chest. Cordelia is playing with a twirl of Misty’s unruly locks, so content with herself that she can hardly contain her smile.</p><p>“I’m so happy,” she admits.</p><p>“You better be,” Misty jibes, “I almost had a heart attack waitin’ for you on that back porch.”</p><p>“I would have found my way to you,” Cordelia says seriously now, “I would have fought tooth and nail to come here.”</p><p>“Hank’s probably havin’ himself a fit right about now.”</p><p>“I can’t bring myself to care, not even a little.”</p><p>Misty shifts upwards so they’re face to face, a needy sound launching from between lips. “Make love to me,” she requests, already slipping off the sleeves of her white dress.</p><p>There’s an inherent sense of rightfulness as Cordelia slips her hands down between Misty’s legs, feeling her warm breath ghosting across her cheek, and she thinks she’ll never want to stop feeling like this.</p><p>It really doesn’t bother either of them, because now they’ll never have to.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is kinda old and i kinda hate it and a bunch of people have read it but whatever !! i revised it a little and i'm hoping it brings somebody a little bit of joy:-)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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